


Cupid's Arrow

by geekinhiding



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, This is my first work, also i would love to hear feedback!!!, so like please dont judge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekinhiding/pseuds/geekinhiding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A world when an arrow appears on your chest when you fall in love.  It varies in colors and shape, but if the person you love loves you back, it will be a perfect match.</p><p>Unfortunately for John Watson, he just got his first arrow.</p><p>For who?</p><p>For Sherlock Holmes, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid's Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work so please forgive me for any mistakes/awkward sentences.

What John was feeling at that moment was indescribable. 

There was a burning sensation in his chest that he had never felt before. If he was daft enough he would blame it on the adrenaline from tonight's outing but no, that wasn't it. He was fine as he snuck back home, moving as quietly as he could so his parents wouldn't wake up. He was fine when he took off his clothes and put on pajamas. He was fine when he got into bed and snuggled underneath the warmth of his blankets. He was fine until he thought about Sherlock.

Sherlock, the boy whom he had just spent the whole night with. The boy who had texted him at 12 in the morning, demanding that he needed John's assistance. The boy who didn't care if he had a game tomorrow morning, and the boy who John followed without question. It was he who John thought of tonight.

To him, Sherlock was angelic.

He appeared when John needed direction the most. He was a new transfer student, arriving in the middle of the semester. When he walked into class John was simply mesmerized. He was tall and pale, his black curls a deep contrast to his snow white skin. His cheekbones were high and mighty- almost as if they were chiseled by Michelangelo himself. He was just absolutely gorgeous and John couldn't help but to stare (and it seemed like his whole class couldn't break their gaze either). 

Everyone wanted to meet him. The boys wanted to establish connections for the future ("My family is influential, John") and the girls wanted to be 'friends' with the newest hottie in their school. It was safe to say that everyone was obsessed with the new student. That was until he spoke.

Not that there was anything wrong with his voice, his voice was the sweetest thing John could ever hear. No, it was what he said. His words stung people. 

For example, one time, he told Louise that flirting with him and having sex with every other boy in the school wasn't the way to get her ex back, “He never much cared for you,” he said, “Especially since you’re so obsessive and manipulative”. 

All the poor girl did was place her hand on his thigh. 

Still, John wasn't turned off. If anything, he was even more intrigued with the boy. He waited for the hype to die down before he uttered word to him. Weeks after his arrival, John sat down next to him and smiled, "'Ello. Name's John. How are you?"

Sherlock eyed him over, "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Just introducing myself."  
Without skipping a beat (and possibly hoping to ward him off), Sherlock said, "I know who you are, John Watson. You're the star player of the rugby team, the best candidate for captain next year. As much as you enjoy playing it, it's not your passion. You were forced into it by a parent, most likely your father. You have a strained relationship with him for this reason. Your relationship with your mother is the same, never having defending you and listening to your father only. The only person who really understands you is your brother, but recently he's been drinking too much for his own good. No matter what you say he doesn't want to seek help. He's a lost cause, if you want my opinion. But you see? No need for an introduction." 

John broke into a smile as he plopped his notebook on his desk. "That was... brilliant," he said under his breath. Sherlock shot up in his desk.

"Excuse me?"

"What you did, just now, that was brilliant. People have been talking about it, you know," he chuckled, "How you can look at a person and know their whole life story. Didn't really believe it until just now." John turned to Sherlock and asked, "How'd you do it?"

Sherlock tightened his lips, "I merely observed. This isn't the first time I've seen you. I've seen you outside when you practice. I've seen how hard you work but how frequently you check your watch, desperately waiting for practice to be over. You're forced to be there, most likely by your parents. Most mothers don't care if their sons are into sports but fathers do. Your father told you to join and he didn't take no for an answer. It was easy, really." Sherlock fidgeted in his chair, waiting for John's response.

"Easy for you maybe," he grinned. "That was bloody amazing." Sherlock smiled back and looked down at his notebook.

"Yes, I suppose it was."

"You did get something wrong though."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"The he is a she. My brother’s a sister."

Since then, they had been inseparable. Sherlock deduced and John praised him. It was their way, it had always been their way. Nothing was going to change that. Or at least, John hoped nothing would.

But when his chest started burning, John knew he was screwed.

John clutched at his sheets, a searing pain going through his chest. He ground his teeth together, trying his best to not let out a yelp. It was a weird feeling. It felt like his heart was on fire. He wanted to rip open his chest and put it out but it was comforting in a way. It felt... good. It felt like home. Just as he was opening up to the sensation, finally allowing his body to relax, it was gone.

John immediately sat up. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. What was that, he thought, laying his hand over his heart. He rubbed his chest to soothe it and just as he was laying down again he felt a bump.

A bump that wasn't there before. 

Oh no.

He scrambled to his feet, almost falling out of his bed as he ran to the bathroom that was just a few feet away. He pulled his shirt off and turned on the light, hurrying towards the mirror. His hands gripped the edge of the sink as he closed his eyes.

You'll be fine, don't panic. Just breathe in... and out. You'll be fine, he thought. Just open your eyes.

And he did.

And his stomach dropped when he saw it.

Right above where his heart was was a small arrow. The arrowhead was a beautiful golden color and as it went down it faded into a precious silver. His fingers traced the arrow, feeling the new addition to his skin.

"Oh my god," he smiled. "Oh my god." John slowly brought his hand to his mouth. "I can't believe it," he whispered as he raised the same hand towards his hair, grasping it when he finally reached it. "I've got it."

I've got a Cupid's arrow.

He broke into a grin and stared at himself in the mirror. "I've gotten a Cupid's arrow. My first arrow. Oh God, I'm in love. I'm in love with somebody. But who? Who am I in love with? The only person I give a damn about is..."

... Sherlock Holmes.

John Watson was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

His joy immediately turned into sadness. Sherlock didn't do "dating", let alone love. John had asked him once if he had ever had a girlfriend and Sherlock let out a short laugh. "Girlfriend? Please, it’s a waste of time John." 

A waste of time.

Would I be a waste of time?

John traced the arrow again and again, admiring its edges and colors. Could Sherlock have one as well?... John shook the idea out of his head. There was no possible way Sherlock had one- matching or not, Sherlock didn't have the ability to love someone like that. Sherlock was as asexual as they were made. John had never asked him if he was, but his lack of interest in the opposite sex (or any sex, for that matter) was enough evidence for John. John sighed once more and slowly exited his bathroom. He glanced at his clock as he crawled into his bed, a neon green 3:45 reminding him that he needed to be up in less than four hours. Still, he couldn't sleep. He tossed and he turned but all he could think about was that stupid arrow and Sherlock and how much he cared for him and how Sherlock would never feel the same and how this was going to ultimately ruin their friendship. 

John’s love was going to ruin them.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any criticism you have please let me know! I would love to better myself as a writer.


End file.
